He flashed her a smile of extraordinary beauty.
“The Señorita understands,” he said.
His face changed again to a dark-brown mask, like semi-transparent stone, and he rowed with all his might. Ahead, the river was widening, the banks were growing lower, down to the water’s level, like shoals planted with willow trees and with reeds. Above the willow trees a square white sail was standing, as if erected on the land.
“Is the lake so near?” said Kate.
The man hastily mopped his running wet face.
“Yes, Señorita! The sailing boats are waiting for the wind, to come into the river. We will pass by the canal.”
He indicated with a backward movement of the head a narrow, twisting passage of water between deep reeds. It made Kate think of the little river Anapo: the same mystery unbroken. The boatman, with creases half